We are but mere pawns in the hands of kings, We are the mindless spawns, just soul-enslaved beings.
No more than the listeners, no more than the followers, No more than self-missed ones … will ever we be over us?
We follow those without minds, who claim they have divine rights, As if they are the higher beings, yet they and blind and have no seeing.
We could not find the satisfaction unless we do belong to faction, Unless we all are parts of crowd, for only then we feel us stout.
And we will fight to our death with those ones who's been claimed as "less", And we will drink theirs bloody tears and name those drinkers as the Heroes.
Thus snake will catch it's own tail, thus it will comes to no avail. Thus heroes born, thus heroes die … and will thy soul that survive ?
And does thy soul ever feels that you are standing on your kneels, That you are lesser than a man if you are slave there and then?
And will you ever understand that there is but one Upper Hand, The hand of god, not mere men, and will it all be over then..?
But will you ever come to peace? And will you stop the other's tease? And will you ever think of others as if they were your own brothers?
And will you find the satisfaction belonging to yourself, not faction? And will you thus become the Man, so it can all be over then?
Just one thing might be said as right - it will be done by men of mind.
